


It Ends in Glory, or it Ends in Tears

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Dokken, Music RPF
Genre: Breakup, Drama, Drugs, Gen, Heavy Angst, Lack of Sleep, Pain, Regret, Tears, say goodbye, walk away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 08:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: Mick's point of view and thoughts during the final meeting and goodbyes to his bandmates when Dokken broke up for the first time in 1989.





	It Ends in Glory, or it Ends in Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rockfic Unfavorite challenge in May 2017. Mick and an angst bomb.

We've been looking forward to it and also dreading it for weeks. Months, possibly.

Now, it's finally happening. And as much as I know I'm going to be glad to have it done and over with by tomorrow, right now, I dread it with all my heart.

The last time we all saw each other in person was for the common shots of the "Walk Away" video. Man, if that wasn't the most blatant title for a breaking up swan song. As soon as it hits the tabloid headlines, everyone's going to know exactly where that one came from. How original was _that?_

Maybe we wanted fans to know as fair warning -if they really _thought_ , they'd have an idea of what was happening. I really can't tell what was going through our heads as we were actually doing that one though. I think it was all a high speed blur of _please get this over with so we can get out of here sort of thing._

I think it was a predictor of what it was to feel like for us when we finally did do it. Because I feel the same way now. The same feelings of _yikes, that sure is accurate_ , and _oh man, this is breaking my heart_ , and also _just let me walk away and have it over with and behind me already._

All those thoughts were scary too.

And now, here we are in the office with our management attorney from the record company. It's our last meeting to say that we've all come to an agreement on our decisions -for now. After this, it's all over.

We all flew in yesterday, stayed in the hotel overnight, but we didn't see each other once except for when we checked into our rooms yesterday, and when we met up this morning to get over here.

It was the most silent, tense car ride I have ever experienced with my band mates. Ever. We didn't really have anything pleasant to talk about, so there wasn't much of a point anyway. Don and I just sat in silence, awkwardly looking away from each other and resisting the urge to fidget nervously. Looking through the window to the other cab, it looked like Jeff and George were in the same position, and that was especially scary and hard to see. As close friends as I am -or at least was to Don, those two were closer. 

That's even harder. For those of us who are good friends, where do our friendships stand after this? Who are we to each other outside of this band that took us over?

Right now, all I can think of is something one of my mentors told me about hitting it big: either it ends in glory, or it ends in tears. There's no question that our journey is ending in tears right now.

And here I sit in the office around the conference table, trying to keep an ear out for when I'm asked a question, but trying to duck my conscious out from what the others are saying. Avoiding the conflict as always. Seems I can't entirely avoid this one no matter what I do.

I'm looking around the room, trying to get a look at my bandmates. Trying to see if they feel any better or worse than I do right now from what I can pick up on.

Don's eyes are bloodshot and shiny from exhaustion. They're underlined heavily by puffy bags and dark circles, and his eyelids rest lower than usual, weighted with lack of sleep. Occasionally, he lifts his hand to his mouth, hiding a small yawn he can't keep in, and when he does, his eyes water up and get more bloodshot.

He didn't even bother to try hiding it. He's not wearing any makeup to try and cover it up, and Don usually tries to cover it up when he looks like he's not feeling well -even when it's nothing compared to this. He will do anything to hide the slightest bit of vulnerability -but not today. Either he was too drained to try, or he just doesn't care if we can see through him today. Like he doesn't have to hide it from us, because he knows we're just as screwed up.

Jeff's eyes are just swimming. I can barely see into them from a distance, because they're droopy, hazy, and watery. His pupils are blown wider that I've ever seen them, his nose is red and raw, and the skin underneath is smeared with traces of dried blood from a nosebleed he only half-heartedly cleaned up after. He nods occasionally during the droning to make it seem like he's listening, but the way his eyes drift off into the distance listlessly and focus on nothing, I can tell he's thousands of miles away. 

He's so trashed -high, and possibly a bit drunk too - that he probably can't even tell what's going on. He knows what's happening though -he knew it before. Knowing Jeff, he did everything he could to get high so that he'd be numb and not remember exactly what's happening here. He's probably going to lock himself into his hotel room when this is over and knock himself out into oblivion with whatever he has left so that he won't catch flashes of this until long after the fact. The rest of us will have gone home and been there at least a day before he'll emerge, because we won't be there to force him to come out sooner than he runs out of what he has and recovers from it.

George is struggling helplessly. Funny how he's been the one of us saying more than anyone else that he wants this to be over and to be away from Don, and yet he's the one completely coming apart at the seams. Of my three bandmates, here he one taking it the worst right now.

He cried all night. _All night._ I was next door to him in the hotel last night and could hear him through the thin walls. It's one of those hotels that have beds arranged so that the headboards are against each other on the walls for the rooms next door. He kept going into coughing jags from the force of it -probably enough to have made him sick at some point. Somehow I managed to fall asleep for a couple of hours, so I don't know what happened during that time, but when I woke up, he was still going. I wish I had stayed asleep, because listening to it was the worst. I couldn't find any noise to overpower it -even turning on the air conditioner to full blast and freezing myself out didn't create enough din for my ears to not follow the sound on the other side of the wall. With each hard, whimpering sob emerging through his coughing, I could picture all four of our hearts shattering and breaking apart piece by piece. I could feel my own breaking too.

I'd have gone over and tried to comfort George, but I admit, I have no idea how to deal with somebody when they're like that. Usually I do nothing but make it worse -I'm just not very tactful when it comes to talking about feelings like these. It's not like we're on good terms with each other right now either. I mean, in the past few weeks I've barely even talked to Don as usual, and even George and Jeff have been more distant to each other. Why would George want comfort from me right now when we've all done nothing but fight for the past few weeks, and now we're getting ready to rip the one thing all four of us have in common apart? What would be the point? Wouldn't that be like giving a someone a hug right before sticking the knife in their back?

He's stopped crying since last night -technically. He still is crying on the inside, containing it where it can't be seen. But I can see it by looking at him, because he's been holding it together through this whole meeting, and as we near the end, it's clear he's not going to be able to keep it inside much longer. Whenever he's asked a question, he speaks in a low, weak voice -like he's choked up and trying not to strain against it and have it come out shaky. George is holding his head low, and his gaze is averted downward so I can't get a look into his eyes, which from the outside look very swollen and irritated. When he's not getting talked to and someone else is, he turns and looks off to the side, making sure it's in the direction away from Don, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his face contorting in excruciating pain. He wants to cry so badly and if it were just the four of us, he probably would. But he can't do it here while we're with our attorney. So he pushes his hand over his mouth, forces himself to breathe deeply through his nose, and forces himself to keep it together and stoic for another five minutes before repeating this desperate motion.

I'm not a cryer, and I can't remember the last time I cried, but I know I will before today's over. Every time it happens, I remember why I always try to stay away from the stuff that leads to it and I focus on the fun instead. It's like a thunderstorm creeping up on a nice day. Where there's this ominous feeling before hell breaks loose, and I just know it's going to be bad. Whenever I got that feeling hanging around Don or Jeff and George, I would get away from them and I would hang out with the crew. It makes perfect sense there too. When it's going to thunderstorm, it would be ridiculous to stand outside in it -anyone with sense would go inside and take cover.

There are tears in my eyes too, just like my bandmates -not because I'm actually crying yet though. I'm tired, having been lying awake most of the night and just thinking about it. Just like I know Don had last night, because he always sits up over stuff like this. I did take a hit of coke before this to try and space myself out a bit like Jeff did. Unfortunately, I didn't do enough to do the trick it seems based on how I feel now. I only did enough to give me the look of being slightly high. I wonder how much Jeff actually did? Guess it doesn't matter now; I'm already here and having to live in it. And it sucks. It sucks beyond every single fucking limit.

I feel sick to my stomach. Waves of nausea hit me every time I hear another part of our contract dispute settled with an indefinite closure that none of us are comfortable with, but we won't go any further on it because it's going to end the same way no matter what. Waves of nausea hit me every time I have to say something, and back up what one of us said about another one of us that's negative or hurtful -even if it is the truth. Every time my stomach pitches and twists, my throat gags off and my eyes burn and water more.

Another reason I always hid out with the crew was because I hated hearing this stuff being thrown back and forth. It didn't seem as real or as bad when I was with them. But here in this moment, it's so real and massive that it's swallowing us, and our band -our pride and ultimate joy -up in it. Our band is our ultimate joy, but it seems any ultimate joy is the ultimate sorrow too, because when it breaks your heart, it'll break it harder than anything else. And right now, it is wreaking havoc on mine. Not just mine -all of ours.

"Alright, that looks like everything in question you all wanted to dispute and settle. Is there anything else you all didn't mention, or are we done?" asks our attorney.

_Are we done?_ That is the scariest question I have ever heard in my life. 'Are we done?' _Done with this meeting?_ Fuck, yes -get me the hell out of here, because I can't stand it another minute! _Done with this argument?_ Well, I hate this argument as much as I hate any other argument. Part of me thinks it could be settled better than it was, but if it's at conclusion, I guess it doesn't help to drag it out when it's still going to end with us pulled apart.

_Done with this band? Done being together? Done with each other?_

Wait, that's- no, that can't _really_ be already-

"I think that's it," says Don quietly.

George nods. "Yeah, that's enough," he chokes out, turning around to face the door. I hear him gulp hard. He's losing it.

"Mr. Pilson?" questions our attorney.

Jeff flinches, but continues to stare spaced out.

"Uh... Yes, sure. We're done."

_We're *done*._

"I guess so," I force out, feeling my stomach hitch and wondering how many times it can flip before it actually lets go.

"Then that's it."

George is the first out of the office, pushing the door open and leaping over the threshold like it's on fire, and he's breaking out into a sprint down the hall.

_Yes, George, run out of here, and run like the wind. Get yourself out of the building before I can get myself out of this room, because I don't think I can take seeing you, or any of us for that matter, break down right now._

Jeff kind of staggers out the door sluggishly, not entirely sure of where he's going.

I don't really know where I'm going either. Where am I supposed to go when I just said goodbye to the one main, constant thing I've really known for the past seven years?

I make my way out in the hall, leaning against the wall outside, trying to steady myself. I feel dizzy, my stomach is rolling, and every step forward is nauseous. 

But it's not like I have much choice in the matter now. We've been making these decisions for weeks. Now they're here, they're final, and it's what we're living with now.

Don emerges from the office behind me, and I turn around and look him right in the face. 

He looks so broken. Exhausted, pained all over, fear in his eyes, betrayal, neglect, bitterness -everything we're all feeling, and we're all at fault for inflicting it on each other.

He looks into my eyes as I stare back into his. It's like we're silently saying to each other everything we've thought inside through the meeting. How much I hate this and how much it scares me -I'm silently telling him that. And he's looking back at me saying the exact same thing.

My sight of him turns less clear, like some translucent sheet has fallen between us. Dividing us from being with each other. I want to go up to him, but it's as though there's some invisible force pushing us apart. It's been there longer than we've been aware of it.

Slowly, Don speaks in the weakest, most timid and shaky voice I have ever heard from him.

"I know, Mick. I'm sorry."

My vision blurs out the rest of the way and now I know exactly what George felt through the whole past hour and all last night.

It hurts like nothing else I've ever felt. My arm feels like it weighs a ton, but I lift my hand up anyway, covering my eyes as the floodgates silently break open. My stomach rolls so that I audibly dry-retch at the sensation of the hot tears crawling from the corners of my eyes and down the sides of my face, hidden from anyone else's sight by my mass of hair.

I push my fingertips against my mouth and swallow hard, debating whether I'm going to actually be sick or not, and if I need to run outside or to the nearest bathroom. Also as to how long I have to get there if I am going to be sick. Not that I have anything in me to get sick on -I felt too sick to eat this morning, and I get the feeling I'm not the only one of us in that boat.

"I'm sorry." Don repeats himself, choking out his last two words to me -the last words he'll say to me for some time I don't know -as his own resolve breaks. Maybe we'll run into each other or call each other in a week. Maybe it'll be a few years -which is more realistic. Or maybe we never will again. _I don't know._

I see him turn around, shoulders sagged heavily, head bent over, and with a slow, listless trudge, he starts to walk away, shaking his head subtly in some combination of sadness, disbelief, and wanting to just get away whether he's really ready or not.

We tried so hard. _So hard_. But it just wasn't working. Maybe we didn't try hard enough, as much as it feels like we couldn't have done any more. Maybe we didn't try soon enough. We're sorry for a lot of things, but we can't find a way to make it better now.

And now, all that's left to do is to just leave each other. _Walk away._

I look down the hallway in the other direction. It looks wide open, colorless, and empty. So damned _empty_. Like the gaping hole that's just been left in the place of Dokken.

It's not like I have anywhere else to go now though.

Without looking behind me to see Don another time, I begin to walk down the hall. By the time I get to the end of it, Don will have exited the building from the exit on the other end of the hall, and George and Jeff will have already left the parking lot. It's numbing up as I walk down the hall, and that's a good thing, because I don't want to think about it right now. I'm not ready to face the raw reality of what it means.

We're all out of sight and indefinitely gone from each other's lives.


End file.
